


The Truth of a Radical

by orphan_account



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Gen, Original Character-centric, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos has her hands full with an ork invasion, and as it turns out a renegade hiver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth of a Radical

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old story, written when I was just getting my toes wet with 'serious' fanfiction. Also one of my earliest attempts at first-person. Predictably it's more ham-fisted than a fat guy at Christmas dinner and endears itself to me more on the memory of the ideas than the execution. The temptation to make edits was overwhelming, but apart from a couple of grammatical fixes I've let the piece stand unchanged from its original version.
> 
> God-Emperor protect. =][=

## THE TRUTH OF A RADICAL

### -by Inquisitor Kristania Veritas, Ordo Xenos

I am an Inquisitor in the service of His Divine Majesty, the Emperor. As such, I am a member of the most elite organization in the whole of the galaxy. I have the power to go wherever I wish, to take control of entire armies, to summarily execute anyone who I deem to be possessed of heretical thoughts. In the direst of situations, I can order the destruction of an entire world. Ordinary people look upon me with awe and fear and amazement, for I am an Inquisitor, and what is a normal man compared with that?

Yet many of my peers look down upon me with scorn and contempt. Some whisper that I have become what I hunt; that I am a heretic myself. Some openly declare to me that I am walking an unwavering path towards ruin.

I tell you now, THIS IS NOT SO! I pray to the Emperor upon awakening and before sleep. I praise his name as surely as any puritan would. With every breath and thought, I fight the enemies of the Emperor. Why then, am I treated with such disdain?

I will tell you why. I am a radical. Unlike the puritans who shudder at the thought of consorting with a psyker, or those who shrink away from the warp-touched, I freely reach out and recruit such people to my cause. And they fight alongside me for the Emperor as surely as any pure-born human would.

I write this testament because I am often asked what persuaded me to adopt the lifestyle of a pariah. Many of those who were once close to me are the ones most confused. You see, I was once a puritan. I believed that all mutants and psykers were rightfully the bane of society. After all, they had been touched by the warp, had they not? And who could trust such a person? Then, my attitude was changed completely. It happened during the orkish invasion of the hive world Beritan in the year 942 of the 41st Millenium.

It was a dark time for the Imperium. Fifty light-years away, the hive world Armageddon was fighting for its life against the ork warlord Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka. The Segmentum Solar was suffering the brunt of dozens of ork attacks as many lesser warlords followed the lead of the infamous Ghazghkull. Some speculated that a full-blown invasion was underway. Little did we know then that it was only the preclude to the true assault.

I was a full-fledged Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos, though I was still somewhat inexperienced. I was traveling to Beritan because I had spent the last five years of my life learning how to kill orks. I was needed. In those days, I was forty-seven, though thanks to juvenat treatments and the stimm work that nearly every Inquisitor goes though, I looked nearly half my age, young enough to hand a big surprise to anyone who thought I was a pushover. I had not yet lost my arm. My hair was flame red and my eyes were bright green (I realize this may be difficult for some to picture, since I have had my augmentics for so long). I wore the signet ring of my Ordo on my right hand and proudly displayed my rosette over my heart. I was every inch the proud Inquisitor, dedicated to the Emperor, the Imperium, and my holy task of cleansing.

Before my story begins in earnest, I must ask you to make a consideration. My last name is Veritas, the High Gothic word for truth. Some have said that there are many kinds of truth. More than one heretic that I have hunted has said in their defense that the Imperium follows its own distorted truth and blinds itself to the real truth – the 'true truth' if you will. I do not believe that. I believe that the truth is simply a concept too difficult for an ordinary mortal to grasp. If we were all like the immortal Emperor, truth and falsehood would be easy to distinguish. But, since we are not, we are only capable of grasping a very limited sense and hanging onto it with all our might.

This story is my small piece of truth. 

The truth of a radical.

\--------------------------------------------------

I had intended to join the fight on Beritan by going to meet with the governor of Hive Corvinas and using my previous experience fighting orks to help plan an overall strategy. By the time I arrived in orbit, the hordes of greenskins were in the process of laying siege to the hive. Despite the valiant efforts of the Planetary Defense Forces and the local Imperial Guard, the foul orks had already penetrated into the outer layers of the sprawling habitation. From my transport, the situation looked dire indeed, but not lost. I knew that my companions and I could make a difference if we got into the fray soon enough.

When an orkish surface-to-air missile struck the engines of my transport, I knew that we would be getting into the fray much sooner than intended. To the credit of my pilot, he held us steady, keeping us from crashing headlong into the horde of orks below us. "Brace yourselves!" I ordered, and the members of my entourage scrambled to find support. The transport careened downwards, our belly scraping the outer wall of the hive and killing a few dozen orks who had the misfortune of being there at the time. Inside, we were all thrown about wildly as my pilot finally lost control. The ship yawed to one side and dropped like a stone. We glanced off one building before our starboard side slammed into the ground. Our momentum caused us to bounce back up into the air before again nose-diving into the pavement. When we finally came to a rest, we were stuck well inside the contested area of the hive.

Knowing the orks would be on us if we waited too long, I gathered myself and checked for injuries. It hurt to breathe, but none of my ribs felt broken. I had gotten off lucky. Our pilot had been crushed to death inside the cockpit when we'd struck the ground the second time. "Let me hear you!" I called out. Only two voices answered. One was Benjamin Grouse, an ex-guardsman from Cadia whom I'd recruited three years before. The other was Michael Divinas, a former bounty hunter. My chief interrogator Rohan, my savant Mairy, and the tech-priest Lestar had all been killed during the crash. I said a quick benediction for all of them, then threw open the hatch and led my remaining followers into the streets of Corvinas.

The hive had been torn apart, which was unsurprising when one considered what was invading. "We need to move quickly," I said.

Michael nodded and pointed to the distant rise of the governor's palace. "That way."

"Let's go," I replied. 

As we started moving, Ben took the safety off his lasgun and motioned for us to do the same. I drew my bolt pistol and checked to ensure that the clip was full. Simultaneously, I tapped the activation rune on the hilt of my chainsword and was satisfied by the short whine it made in reply. Michael was the most heavily armed out of the three of us, bearing a dangerous plasma pistol and a cord of frag grenades. We all wore body armor. However, I knew that it would not last us if we ran into the orks. I said a short prayer to the Emperor, hoping that the greenskins had not deployed any of their elite forces, the kommandos. If we happed to cross paths with a squad of them, we would be dead, pure and simple.

We ran as quickly as we were able, dodging in and out of piles of debris, all the while listening to the sounds of far-off battle. Then we turned a corner and found them. There were ten of them. Full-grown orks, each armed with one of their typical slapdash weapons: axes, shootas, gunz, and other such items. In panic, I shouted, "Open fire!" The three of us raised our guns simultaneously and pulled our triggers. Ben's lasfire burned the ork had targeted but failed to put it down. My bolt hit low of where I had intended, shattering the shoulder of the biggest ork, but also failing to kill it. Michael's shot was the most successful, the blue ball of plasma vaporizing the ork he aimed at.

Despite their shock at the suddenness of the attack, the orks rallied quickly. "HUMIEZ!" one of them shouted, and they all moved to attack.

I didn't need to make calculations; if we stayed and fought, we were dead. "Run!" I yelled, and we darted back the way we came, poorly-aimed fire bracketing us. We led the orks on a furious chase through the streets of Corvinas. Michael ran in front, with me right behind him and Ben staying back, every once in awhile spinning to fire a shot at our pursuers.

We couldn't dodge forever. I felt a slug graze my leg and stumbled almost at the same time that Ben took a bolt to the back. He was dead by the time he hit the ground. Down on one knee, I turned and fired. This time, my shot was right on the mark, the bolt flying straight into the ork's mouth and detonating. Michael came back for me, shouting something incoherent as his plasma pistol vaporized yet another ork. Realizing which of us was more dangerous, the orks fired back. Michael was shot over and over again. By the time he fell, he hardly looked human anymore.

I resigned myself to death and drew my chainsword, determined to die with the Emperor's name on my lips and the blood of His enemies on my blade. Without conscious thought, I threw myself forward and struck. My chainsword cleaved the lead ork in two even as I put a trio of bolts into the next closest. The remainder roared in anger, but they were bunched too closely for them to fight me effectively. I struck, and struck, and struck again, losing myself in the haze of battle. Black ork blood covered my sword as well as my clothes, but I could not fight forever.

The blow took me by surprise. The last of the orks had left his companions to die by my hand while he dropped his gun and drew a heavy club. Had he chosen to shoot me, I would not be writing this, but the stupidity of your average ork worked in my favor, although it certainly didn't feel like it then. The impact broke my sword arm and knocked me to the street. As I fell, I lost control of my chainsword, and the furiously roaring weapon tore open my midsection. I may have screamed as I dropped the weapon; I cannot remember. The ork stood over me and raised his club, no doubt intending to smash my skull flat. As he did so, however, gunfire rang out. The ork staggered as he was shot in the back multiple times, then his weight took over and he fell backwards, out of view.

My next sight was that of a human, but my vision had gone blurry with the pain, and I could not even tell whether it was male or female. They said something that sounded distant, then grasped my broken arm. In the wash of pain, I blacked out.

\--------------------------------------------------

When I next opened my eyes, I was indoors. The smoggy sunlight of Beritan was filtering in through a window. I was lying on my back in an unfamiliar room. My first, panicky thought was that I had been captured, but I quickly dismissed the possibility. Someone had rescued me, but whom? I tried to sit up, but my midsection suddenly screamed. It felt as though someone had jammed a red-hot poker into my stomach. I gasped and fell back down to the floor. Stubborn fool that I was, I tried to sit up a second time, biting my lip and wrapping an arm tightly around myself to help deal with the pain.

"Hey!" a man's voice called out. "You damn woman, you want it to open up again?" Without warning, he was beside me, one hand on my shoulder, forcing me back down the to the floor.

"I'm...fine..." I hissed. 

"The warp you are," he snapped. "Stay down, unless you want to aggravate it." 

I decided not to fight. Instead I looked down at my arm, which had been set in a splint, and my midsection, which was tightly bound in white cloth. "How did you..."

He sighed. "When you live in the downhive as long as I have, you learn things like that. Sometimes it's the only thing keeping you alive." He turned away and walked to the other side of the room, sitting down heavily against the opposite wall. I took this opportunity to study him more closely. He was no ganger, I could tell that much. He lacked any tattoos or piercings that would mark him out as one. He wasn't built like one either, being muscular, but still slim and only of average height. His raven-black hair was tied into a rather sloppy braid that hung down his back. A single brown eye scrutinized me the same way I was examining him. His other eye, his right, was completely covered by a square eye patch of some black material. He wore a motley collection of clothes, weapons, and other such accessories that suggested he'd been forced to scrounge for everything he had.

"And who might you be?" I asked as I used my good arm to prop myself up against the wall.

He shrugged. "Just your average downhiver who happened to be in the right place at the right time to pull you out of the fire. The name's Zefram."

"That's an unusual name." 

"Yeah? Well, what's yours, smart girl?" 

"Kristania Veritas. And that's _Inquisitor_ Veritas to you, hive-boy." 

The expression on his face was an instant classic. He looked at me as if I'd told him I were St. Benedice herself reincarnated. "An Inquisitor?" he finally managed.

With my uninjured arm, I reached up and brushed dry ork blood off my rosette. "Inquisitor Kristania Veritas, Ordo Xenos," I said formally.

He took a few deep breaths and slowly calmed himself. "Well, that explains a couple things," he said, gesturing. I looked to my left and saw my bolt pistol and chainsword lying next to me.

"You scavenged them?" 

He nodded. "After I made sure you wouldn't bleed to death while I wasn't looking, I went back. Couldn't let some ork get their filthy hands on such fine weapons." He thumbed his palm to form the aquilae and I nodded in agreement.

"So, where are we?" 

"Outer seventh, but we're still in the contested area." 

For a moment, I didn't understand. Then I recalled the dataslate I'd been reading shortly before the crash. Corvinas Hive was laid out in a roughly circular shape. At the very center was the massive governor's palace, built to be a smaller version of the Imperial Palace on Terra. Surrounding it were the massive edifices of the Arbites, the Ecclesiarchy, the Administratum, and all the other branches of the Emperor's government; all of them combining to form the core of the hive. Surrounding them were eight concentric rings of steadily deteriorating buildings, from the towering structures of the businesses and traders of the First Ring to the slums and slapdash buildings of the Eighth, which now belonged to the orks. "When did they break through?" I asked.

"They haven't, officially," he replied. "But they're almost ready to. The big boys have been setting up just a little further uphive." By uphive, I knew he meant closer to the center of the city. Normally, such a term referred to the highest part of a hive, the only part that saw the sun, but Corvinas worked differently. Here, rather than shoving its rabble underground, Corvinas steadily pushed them further and further out as it grew. "So, what are you doing here, Inquisitor?" he asked carefully.

"I came to see if I could lend the governor's strategists some aid," I said. I smiled ruefully and gestured towards my injuries. "I wasn't planning on getting involved at such a...personal level."

The corner of his mouth turned up briefly and then he was serious again. "Inquisitor," he asked softly, "do you really think you can stop them?"

I am no psyker, but I make up for it with an ability to read people like books. In Zefram's voice, I could hear both an underlying desperation and a quiet stubbornness. Whether I told him yes or no, he would be there to slug it out. I decided to give him my gut feeling. "I think so," I said. "We might not have the numbers, but we can make up for it by fighting a smarter battle than them. It's going to be rough for awhile, but we'll beat them back eventually." I failed to add that even if we did save the hive, Beritan itself would in all likelihood be plagued by orks for decades to come.

"So you're going to stick it out?" 

I nodded. "I don't run from xenos." 

It was what he needed to hear, and I didn't hesitate to give it to him. It was almost as though hope were a physical thing, lighting up his face. It was as though I'd assured him that his own survival was inevitable. He sat silently, looking at the floor as though diving some strategy from it. "Have you got any food?" I asked.

He reached into one of his pockets and retrieved a pair of small foil-wrapped packages. He unwrapped them to reveal a pair of plain nutrition bars and tossed one to me. I took a bite and barely managed to swallow. "What in the Emperor's name went into these?" I asked with distate.

"You don't want to know," he casually replied in between bites. I decided he was probably right and finished the rest quickly.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What's it like?" he asked. 

"What?" 

"Being an Inquisitor. Is it really everything they say it is?" 

I snorted. "Hardly so dramatic. Ninety-five percent of the time you spend is comprised of prayer, research, and formulating reports to a superior."

"And the rest?" 

I turned a cold eye on him to kill his interest. "In the rest, you run afoul of the worst things in existence and kill them before they kill you."

"Sounds a bit like the downhive to me," he commented. 

"Fool," I snapped. "You comment upon something you cannot possibly understand." My gaze locked itself to his and I forced myself to sit straight up, blanketing the pain as I did so. My voice lowered to a strained hiss. "I've seen men twice your size and strength curl up and whimper like scared children when confronted with the least of the foes I've had to face. I've seen the most disciplined of Guard regiments break ranks and reduce itself to screaming anarchy in the face of an onslaught by creatures you cannot possibly imagine. I've seen people flayed until they lay in a pool of their own blood. I've seen weapons that can strip a man, layer by layer, down to his very bones. I have stood at the apex of one of the Emperor's temples and watched as men were slain in their hundreds by technological devices that make the Adeptus Astartes look like schoolyard bullies. You think you know what hardship is, Zefram? You think the life of an Inquisitor isn't much tougher than making your way through a hive? Forget all of it this instant. Can you imagine what hell is like? I don't have to. I've seen it. And let me tell you here and now, your hell is my playground."

There was a long period of silence during which I was finally forced to rest back against the wall. Zefram had paled visibly, no doubt trying to envision what I had spoken of, and not doing a very good job of holding himself together at the resulting picture. He finally looked back down at the floor. "Forgive me if I've offended you, Madam Inquisitor," he finally said, his voice contrite.

I didn't reply. Time passed and the greasy sunlight began to grow dimmer. Just as I noticed the change, I heard the sound of an engine. I could tell immediately that this was no ork machine; it ran too smoothly for that. It had to be other humans. And they were coming closer.

Zefram heard it as well. "Sounds like your friends are here," he said flatly. Before I could ask him what he meant, he suddenly stood and vanished through the back door. Just a few moments later, there was a banging on the front door. The flimsy material gave way and a figure in black riot gear stepped though, an auspex clutched in one hand and no doubt keyed to detect human life-signs.

The Arbites Judge – for that was what he was – immediately saw me and hurried to my side, rapidly speaking into his comm bead as he did so. Others poured through the door, some of them moving towards me, others to quickly sweep the building. Somehow, I knew that they wouldn't be finding Zefram. His kind has an almost innate ability to avoid searches. Despite my harsh words, I found myself silently asked the Emperor to watch over him as I was lifted up and carried towards the Arbites' convoy. I regretted that I had not thanked him for what he had done.

Little did I know then that I would soon be owing Zefram more thanks than I could have ever imagined.

\--------------------------------------------------

Two weeks passed. The medicae pronounced Zefram's work to be 'marginally civilized', which meant that they were astonished by how well it had been done. My broken arm was set and rethreaded within a few days, though I had to be kept for observation. By the time the ragged wound across my stomach had been reduced to a thin line of scar tissue, I was practically itching to get into the fight. My own morale was handed a blow when it was reported to me that my ship – a sprint trader named the Highwind – had been destroyed by an ork ship during one of the numerous naval skirmishes taking place throughout the system.

I had been on Beritan for less than a month, and I had lost everything but what I had carried on my person. Many would have despaired. But not I, for I was a member of the Holy Inquisition, and a member of the Inquisition is never without resources. The moment I was released from the medicae, I marched straight to the Governor's Palace and requested an audience. He granted it immediately, of course.

Most Imperial governors are hereditary, which means that they barely have the brains cells required to perform their jobs. Governor Galloway, I am pleased to say, was a notable exception to the rule. A sharp, no-nonsense man of some one hundred twenty years, the only visible sign of his aging was a touch of gray at his temples. After the most perfunctory of welcomes, he quickly escorted me to the meeting room being used as a more or less makeshift command center.

The situation had grown worse while I'd been recovering. Now the orks completely held the eighth ring and were beginning to make forays into the seventh. The various armed forces had been forced to pull back to mid-seventh, where they were even now hastily throwing together blockades and defense positions. I looked over the maps with a practiced eye, pointing out several places where more troops were needed, or where a different combination of weaponry would better secure a certain area.

I also noted that the defenses of the city, while perfectly keyed to stop a human opponent, were not as well-suited to the crazed assaults that orks favored. The governor, although perfectly competent, had been basing his plan of defense around that the orks could be fought in much the same way humans did. I quickly disavowed him of that notion and began rapidly outlining a plan to restructure the defenses into devastating fire-lanes that would massacre the orks as they ran. Several of the lord governor's advisors began to hem and haw about how long such changes would take, but he quickly rebuked them and ordered the plan to be carried out, much to my satisfaction.

I decided that directing from the top was not enough and announced my decision to visit the front lines. Galloway provided a PDF Predator and driver to escort me, which I accepted gladly.

The carnage at the line of battle surprised even me. For the moment, the orks were holding back, but bodies from both races seemed to lie everywhere. I questioned the men stationed at the post where I'd chosen to make my first stop and found that they'd been forced to gun down several of their own to prevent the orks from overrunning their position. Several of the freshest corpses belonged to men who'd gone out to retrieve the bodies and had been shot dead by orks hiding just around the corners. Grimly, I told them what they needed to hear; that they had done their job to the best of their ability and that their friends had been gathered to the Emperor's side. Deciding that I could spare the time, I offered to lead them in a short litany. They agreed, a decision that would haunt many of them to the end of their days.

Orks have an almost instinctual knowledge of when an enemy has let its guard down. Barely had we finished our third sentenced when they came rushing around the corner towards us, a blood-curdling cry of "WAAAAAAGH!" filling the air. The men around reacted as trained professionals should; leaping to their stations and opening up a veritable cascade of bullets and lasfire. The orks leading the charge were literally torn apart by the barrage. The rest continued to storm forward with the typical single-mindedness of their kind.

I could see that our delay in opening fire was going to cost us, for the orks had nearly reached our position already. My boltgun was in my hand and quaking as I tried to pick off the leaders of the mob. Their return fire was ork-atrocious, missing nearly everything they shot at and only bringing down a single soldier.

Then they reached us as the situation changed drastically. One man was decapitated by an ork waraxe. Another had his skull caved in by a massive sledgehammer. With a cry of "For the Emperor!" I drew my chainsword, thumbed the activation rune, and leapt into the fray. The first ork I struck never even saw me coming, the chainsword cleaving it from armpit to neck. The second was faster, and jumped back so that I only grazed its chest. It swung at me with its own weapon, but I sidestepped and thrust the chainsword into it. That wouldn't stop most orks, but I must have hit something vital, for it promptly crumbled to the ground. The third ork was even quicker, darting back out of my reach and leaning in to strike. It was clearly trying to tire me out, so I changed the rules by planting a bolt in its head.

By now, the smell of blood filled the air, along with the yells of the men and the howls of the orks. The roars of chain weapons and the continuous BOOM-BOOM-BOOM of one of the vehicle-mounted heavy bolters assaulted the ears. It was utter bedlam. The green skin and bright red clothes of the orks clashed almost nauseatingly with the pale blue uniforms of my fellow humans. Blood covered many on both sides.

The next ork in front of me exploded before I could reach it, a victim of the heavy bolter. I didn't hesitate, leaping over its remains and swinging my sword wildly, decapitating another victim.

Before I knew it, the battle was over. The orks broke and ran. We showed no mercy, our guns opening up as they stampeded back down the street, bringing many of them to the ground. They disappeared back around the corners to safety, and it was finally over. Once again, I was left covered in ork blood.

"I've got to stop this annoying habit," I muttered to myself. I sheathed my weapons and went to assist the men with the sacred duty of gathering our fallen comrades. Twelve men had been killed by the ork attack, for which I held myself personally responsible. Such a lapse in judgment infuriated me. Litanies were for churches and ceremonies, not the front line of a battlefield. I had made a critical error and twelve good men had paid for it with their lives.

My mood blackened even further when I thought about the entirety of my time on Beritan. In less than a month, I had done little other than lose my entire entourage, come within a hairsbreadth of losing my very life, cost a full dozen men their lives...and made some suggestions about troop movements.

I was not at all pleased with myself, and I swore that the coming weeks would give birth to a new nightmare for the orks. An Inquisitorial nightmare.

\--------------------------------------------------

It wasn't until a week later that I got my chance to atone for my mistake. I had spent much of my time atop the governor's palace, acting as little more than a lookout for major ork gatherings. The winds were strong, threatening to blow me off to my death if I wasn't careful. It was also bitingly cold, cold enough to cause frostbite if I stayed out for too long or failed to wear proper clothing.

It was my penance for twelve men's deaths. 

As the time passed, I noticed more and more ork movements in one section of the eighth ring. With increasing anxiety, I ordered other lookouts to fix their attention on the area.

By the end of the day, we had completed the picture, and it wasn't a pleasant one. Several of the ork chieftains had apparently agreed to pool their forces for one massive attack that would surely break our hold on the seventh ring, with the possibility of even punching through into the sixth. To say that this was an unwelcome development would be an understatement.

To his credit, Governor Galloway took the news calmly. In the silence of the war room, he seemed to be the only man with any measure of composure left to him. "Suggestions?" he asked quietly.

The word opened up a veritable bombardment of voices, recommending everything from calling in the Astartes to orbital bombardment. Galloway took particular offense to that one, saying angrily that the city needed to be saved, not smashed. As others found their voices, the room began to feel increasingly hot and crowded. I stayed back from the cluster of men and watched the scene with a cynical eye.

The orks, a race notorious for infighting and arguing amongst themselves, had found a way to pull themselves together and work in unison. In response, the humans began arguing and infighting. The irony was almost palpable.

I let the bickering continue for several minutes, my reasoning being that if they worked out their anger now, the better they would respond to me when I stepped in. Finally, I judged that tensions had nearly reached the breaking point, whereupon I casually drew my boltgun and fired a shot into the ceiling. The loud noise overrode all else and silence fell as all eyes turned to me. I reholstered the weapon as I began speaking.

"Lord Governor," I said, "none of this is feasible. We cannot afford to wait for the Astartes. Orbital bombardment is too clumsy; we could end up killing just as many humans as orks. A pre-emptive attack would take too long and be bogged down before reaching the ork leaders. And if it failed, we would have nothing left to stop the greenskins from rolling through the rest of Corvinas Hive."

"You have a suggestion, then?" he said promptly. 

I nodded. "I will lead a strike force of the most disciplined troopers I can find. We will move through the underhive sewers until we are underneath the ork command and use melta charges to destroy it. Without their chieftains, the orks will fall to clan warfare and weaken their own forces while we sit back and watch."

"It sounds doable," he said after a moment of thought. "What if there are orks in the sewers?"

"We circumvent them. Or kill them as quickly and quietly as possible. I don't want to waste time fighting small cogs when we're after the control unit."

Galloway nodded. "How will you find the soldiers?" 

"I intend to alert all the regimental commanders in the city. They'll pick what troop they think are best and send their data to me. Out of that list, I'll choose whichever squad I think is best suited."

"Well, best of luck to you then." 

I nodded courteously and turned to leave, but stopped when one of the other men spoke up. "Inquisitor," he said softly, "what do we do if you fail?"

I paused, facing the exit. "I won't fail," I finally said, and walked out. 

I didn't waste any time before putting my plan into action. Before the hour was up, messages bearing the seal of the Inquisition had gone out to each Guard commander in the city. By the end of the day, they had all replied.

I worked well into the night, accompanied only by the distant sounds of weapons fire. I poured over dossiers of various men and women who had dedicated their lives to the Emperor. I briefly considered mixing and matching, then rejected it. I knew that a squad that had been together for any length of time would serve better than one slapped together overnight, no matter how good the soldiers were.

Finally, in the first hours of the new day, I made my decision. I selected a squad of elite Storm Troopers from the Valhallan 427th, which had been stationed in the northern area of the city to deal with heavy concentrations of mechanized ork battalions. The squad, under the command of one Sergeant Derricks, had served together for five years in a variety of infiltration and demolition missions and, most importantly to my mind, was a full ten men strong. A notary from Colonel Challace stated that he could also supply a local guide to assist us in getting to our objective.

That short statement told me much. First, it told me that this Colonel was not above asking for assistance when it was needed. Second, it told me that he – and by extension, his men – were capable of thinking outside given instructions. Finally, the fact that he had only added it at the bottom of his recommendations, as if by a final thought, told me that he did not need to rely on such things in order to accomplish his objectives. I nodded to myself, re-organized the desk I'd been using, and fell asleep.

Seven standard hours later, I went to meet with Colonel Challace. He was very pale of skin, typical of Valhallans, and stood a head shorter than myself. To my surprise, he had already organized his squad for my inspection, although I'd given him no warning of my arrival. My respect for the Colonel rose yet another notch.

Sergeant Derricks was a scarred man with dark red hair who stood as straight as if he were under the eye of the Emperor Himself. His men were equally rigid at attention. I pressed my lips together and nodded in approval. Such a disciplined squad was unlikely to break in the face of adversity.

I spoke quickly and succinctly, outlining my plan to the men, who took it without comment. When I looked into their eyes, I felt like I could almost see them planning every step that they would take. When I asked all those who wanted to participate to step forward, they all did so as if they had rehearsed it a dozen times.

I dismissed them so that they could gather up their gear and weapons, after which I turned to the Colonel. "You said you could provide a guide."

He nodded. "He's a local, a man from the slums just south of here. He can be a little quirky, but he's been reliable." He dispatched an aide to summon the man.

Imagine my surprise when the aide returned with none other than my raven-haired rescuer! Zefram failed to see me at first, stepping forward and speaking. "You need my help with some..." He trailed off and his lone eye widened in surprise as he finally noticed me.

The corner of my mouth turned up briefly. For some reason I could not explain, I felt that my mission had just received a very welcome boost in the arm.

\--------------------------------------------------

The sewers were cold. The sewers were dark. The sewers stank worse than I could have imagined. We waded through brackish water that came up to mid-shin, with only the luminators attached to the soldiers' rifles to provide any source of light. I carried my boltgun in one hand, the safety off. Each of the storm troopers was armed with a powerful hellgun, frag and krak grenades, and a backpack full of melta charges that would be used to bring down the ork command. The only exception was our rearguard, Jovah, who carried a bulky flamer.

Deva, the slim man who was on point, suddenly stumbled over something hidden beneath the surface of the water. Instantly, the entire squad halted with guns ready as they waited for the splash to echo away to nothing. I suppressed a nod of satisfaction. Thus far, Sergeant Derricks and his men had conducted themselves in superb fashion. Just behind me, one more member of the team came to a stop, and I resisted the temptation to smile.

You don't normally see a downhiver anywhere within a kilometer of a squad of storm troopers, let alone an Inquisitor. Zefram was out of his element and he seemed to know it, but appeared determined to do his part anyway. I admired that. Out of all of us he was the most lightly armed, bearing only an old-fashioned slugthrower pistol that he currently held tightly in one hand. I snuck a glance at him and was less than pleased to see his lone eye flicking back and forth in every direction. I reached out with my free hand and touched his wrist. "Calm," I whispered. I noticed that his hands were shaking.

He swallowed and took a few deep breaths. "Right. Calm," he said a moment later. "We need to go right at the next break."

As we moved, I found myself wondering how Zefram had learned how to navigate the sewers so well. I decided it was probably some combination of escaping riots, running from gangers, and you-don't-want-to-know. After several more intersections, I finally whispered "how far are we?"

He promptly reached out and tapped the muzzle of his gun against a panel etched with the Gothic rune for seven. "Almost there," he replied quietly. Though I would never shrink from facing the foes of the Emperor, I mentally recited a short prayer of thanks.

The journey was uneventful, marked only by repeated stops to ensure we weren't being shadowed. Not that most orks had the concentration required for such a feat, but in never hurts to be cautious. Finally, Zefram stopped short in front of a metal grate surrounded by writing. "West twentieth, north forty-third," he read. "This is it."

Derricks and a pair of his men cut the grate open and we slipped through. For an indeterminate amount of time, we were squashed into a cramped duct of some kind while we wormed out way into the basement of the building being used by the orks for co-ordination. It was a tight fit for me; to this day I don't know how the Valhallans did it with the melta charges strapped to their backs.

We broke into a basement the size of a warehouse. Enormous pillars of steel and concrete seemed to drop from the ceiling above to press against the ground. Immediately, the troopers went to work. Silent as death they spread across the room, unstrapping their pack and placing charges as they went. As they worked, I noticed Zefram slowly creeping off into the dark to kneel against one of the pillars. I bent and padded after him. "What do you think you're doing?" I hissed as I crouched next to him.

"Thought I heard something," he said, his face grim. I noticed that he now held his stub gun in a two-handed grip, ready to fire. I cocked my head and listened.

"I don't hear anything," I whispered. 

"Don't breathe." 

I did as he said, taking in a silent breath through my nose and holding it. That was when the noise finally reached me ears. It was so soft, it was almost inaudible. Breathing. I slipped my finger onto the trigger of my boltgun and slowly stretched my leg out, then silently transferred my weight onto it. This brought me forward enough for me to peer into the darkness of the room.

For a long moment, I saw nothing. Then my eye caught movement. Whatever it was, it was too fast for me to get a good look in the darkness as it darted from one pillar to another. Whatever it was, I knew what it meant: we were frigged in a big way.

My confirmation came moments later as I heard something deliberately sniff the air and remark, in a deep bass that no man could match, _"humiez."_

The mission was blown. I stood, pointed my bolter in the direction I thought I'd heard the voice, and pulled the trigger. After the silence of the trip in, the bang seemed to fill the universe and the flash burned my eyes.

The ork seemed equally surprised to find a gaping hole in his torso. 

Behind me, one of the Valhallans yelled something incoherent and the area was suddenly illuminated with a volley of lasfire. Another ork screamed something and a return volley filled the air. The battle was on.

I took cover behind the pillar, my bolter chattering as I pulled the trigger again and again. Gunfire flew back and forth all around me. In the chaos of the moment, I suddenly realized that Zefram was gone. The thought was there and gone again in an instant as I reached around and fired off another pair of bolts. Lasfire from the Valhallans' hellguns shot past me to splatter across the nearest orks, as well as blowing chunk out of several pillars. "If this goes on much longer, we're going to bring the whole building down on us!" I shouted into my commbead.

"Pick your shots," I heard Derricks say a moment later. "Watch the collateral." 

Unfortunately for us, orks don't care much about property damage. "SMASH 'EM!" one yelled, and a green tide came at us. It was impossible to say how many there were. A round whizzed past my shoulder, so close I felt the breeze on my neck. I was retreating back towards the Valhallans when suddenly an eye-hurting jet of flame shot out from behind a pillar and engulfed one of the nearest orks. The unlucky xeno bellowed – in rage or pain, I couldn't tell – and fell to the ground as his ammo began to explode.

"Much appreciated," I said as I saw Jovah out of the corner of my eye. He nodded, his expression unreadable behind his gas mask. A moment later, a bolt tore into one of the tanks strapped to his back and set off the fuel inside. Jovah vanished in the resulting ball of fire and I was thrown to the floor by my proximity to the explosion. When I sat up, a haze of smoke permeated the area and the pillar Jovah had taken cover behind was little more than a memory.

"Sergeant!" I shouted into the commbead. "How many of the pillars have you wired?"

An unfamiliar voice answered. "Veral here, ma'am, the Sarge is down. Ork took his head off."

"Report, soldier." 

"Maybe half, ma'am. Mostly the west side. Reggers put a couple on the west wall."

"That'll have to do," I said. "We need to get out of here, mister Veral. Get the men back to vent and go."

"What about-" 

"I'll be right behind you. Now get moving!" 

"Ma'am! Yes ma'am!" he snapped. "You heard her, gentlemen, move out!" 

I snapped off another shot and ducked behind a pillar to reload. That was when I saw him. Zefram stood over the body of a dead ork. Blood ran from its eyes, its nose, its mouth, even its ears. As I looked, he turned towards me, his hand dropping away from his face.

It was then that I began to suspect. 

He dashed over to my side. "We need to get out of here!" he yelled over the continuing cacophony.

"Agreed," I said. "Follow me!" 

I darted from one pillar to another in the direction back towards the grate, Zefram following me like a shadow. Neither of us fired, afraid of bringing the orks down on our heads. We wormed our way through the forest of concrete to find a half dozen Valhallans defending the grate. "Veral!" I shouted, forgetting the commbead. "I told you to move out!"

"We can't all pile in there, the greenies'll turn us into hash!" he shouted back. "Go on, Inquisitor, we'll hold them off!" He tapped his belt. "I'll blow this place once you and the civ are safe!"

I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to say that I'd remember him. I wanted to congratulate him for doing his duty. I wanted to say a lot of things, but I had time for none of them. Instead, I simply nodded and dove into the vent, Zefram right behind me. We scampered furiously back towards the sewers, the shouting of orks and soldiers and the noise of combat at our heels. I felt the ground suddenly rumble and bolted forward, tearing my clothes on the remains of the grate we'd entered through. Zefram dove through it after me and ducked aside as superheated air and smoke shot out of the vent behind him. Veral had set off the charges. The world shook furiously and it felt as though we were trapped inside of a child's toy, one that receives a lot of rough play. For time out of mind, the rumbling continued. To me, this surely meant that we had been successful and that the building had collapsed far above us. I said a prayer to the Emperor that it was so.

When the noise and the shaking were finally over, silence reigned. Zefram stood up from the alcove where he'd taken cover, brushing dust off of his clothes like a man in a trance. "Did it work?" he asked vacantly.

"I think so," I said evenly. "Come on, let's go back." 

I had to pull on his arm to get him to start, but after that he moved on his own. The sewers hadn't gotten any brighter, and without luminators, we were nearly in pitch black. After a few minutes had passed, I turned to look at him.

"May I see your gun for a moment?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral. 

He hesitated, no doubt searching for a reason to refuse giving up his gun this deep in enemy territory, then shrugged and handed it over. I admired the careful, if roughshod work on the barrel, then ejected the clip and examined the slugs inside.

"How did you kill that ork, Zefram?" I suddenly asked. 

He hitched. "Shot it," he finally said, projecting an air of confidence. "Thing grabbed me around the waist, but missed my arm. Stuck the gun in its mouth and blew his brains out."

"That's very fascinating," I said evenly as I stopped walking. "Because your clip is full."

He turned to find the clip back in the gun and the gun pointed at his head.

A moment of tense silence passed. "The truth," I said shortly. 

He swallowed hard. "I reloaded," he said. His hands shook. 

"Liar," I snapped. I took a step forward and pressed the muzzle of the gun into his forehead. "You have exactly three seconds to explain yourself, hiver. Then I'm pulling the trigger. One."

He trembled, but set his jaw. "Two," I said. 

"I reloaded," he repeated stubbornly. 

I frowned, then took action. In a blur of motion, my left hand leapt from where its position steadying the gun and tore his eyepatch away. In the moment before he shouted wildly and fell backwards in his attempt to cover the eye, I saw the truth.

Behind his right eyelid was a pale blue glow. 

"Heretic!" I snarled. 

"No, wait, I'm not!" the prone man said desperately. 

"Liar! You have a sorcerer's eye!" 

A sorcerer's eye is a mutation similar to that which produces the warp eye in the Imperium's Navigators. In the case of the sorcerer's eye, however, the mutation can only be achieved through the use of warp magic. In short, Zefram was a heretic; a follower of Chaos. "How long since you sold your soul to the dark gods?!" I shouted, shoving the gun in his face as I did so. Right then, the only thing keeping me from shooting him and having done with it was the fact that he'd saved my life.

"I didn't! I didn't do it! It's not my fault!" he said hysterically. 

"Swear it!" 

"I swear!" 

"Swear it in the Emperor's name!" I persisted. 

"I swear it in the name of him-on-earth! I swear I am loyal to the God-Emperor of mankind! I swear it, I swear it!"

A moment passed. "Alright," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "Start talking, and you had better say something damned impressive if you expect me to spare your life."

He kept his hand over his mutated eye as he spoke quickly. "My father was a cultist," he said. "My mother didn't know about it until after he got her pregnant with me. He started using warpcraft to change me while I was still in the womb. He wanted to use me as a weapon to take over the planet for Tzeentch-"

"Don't speak that name in presence again!" I shouted. I had absolutely no patience left for this.

He gasped; he sounded close to hyperventilating. "S-s-so my mother turned him in to the Arbites. They wiped out the cult a few months before I was born."

"What about that eye?" 

"I've kept it covered my whole life; I know what it can do!" he said, his voice pleading. "Please, please, Inquisitor, please don't kill me." Tears of fright were running from his normal eye.

The irony of the situation struck me then. Here we were, and he could kill me with nothing more than a glance, yet he begged me not to shoot him! I kept silent while I considered. Finally, I lowered the gun and threw his eyepatch back at him. "Put it on," I said sharply. "And don't even think of thanking me," I added as I saw his look of relief. "I'm not one to let mutants like you wander around."

"Can't we just call it even?" he asked nervously. 

I whirled on him. "No, hiver, we do not call it even! You are tainted by the warp and I am a member of His Divine Majesty's Inquisition! By every standard with which I measure myself, I should put a bolt through your brain or failing that, gouge that light of Chaos from you and throw you to the Ministorum for cleansing!" My finger twitched on the trigger of the stub gun. "Now, get up. You're leading the way out of here. I'll decide what to do with you when we get back."

I seethed. The thought of letting him go free was repugnant in the extreme. He was a potentially dangerous mutant who could kill with a just a look if he so chose. On the other hand, a part of myself argued, he had saved my life and risked his own to help others. Maybe he was exactly what he claimed; just a decent person who had less-than-stellar origins.

That didn't stop me from pressing the gun to his back to get him moving.

I kept one hand clamped on Zefram's shoulder as we made our way through the sewers. My other hand jammed the pistol into his back. Part of me still wanted to shoot him and finish the matter there. According to my training, I should have shot him the moment I'd learned the truth. Puritanical thinking does not leave room for heretics and the tainted. Even so, I found myself reluctant in the extreme and as a result I was taking my frustration out on Zefram, who by now was a nervous wreck with a gun shoved into his back.

Nowadays, I can't believe I was ever such a callous fool. 

Time passed as we wandered through the darkness. On occasion, Zefram would stumble against something, at which point I would quickly step back and keep the gun pointed at him until he regained his balance. I never spoke, but he kept up a stream of nervous comments and observations that I largely ignored. Finally, he tripped over something solid and fell forward into the brackish water with a yelp.

Despite the situation, the corners of my mouth threatened to turn upwards. 

He gathered himself up on his hands and knees with a grunt. "This is damn stupid," he suddenly said. "I can't see a frigging thing."

With reluctance, I had to admit he was right. The sewers had gone from near-black to pitch-black. For the last hour or so, I had kept my hand on Zefram's shoulder to make sure he was there as much as to keep him from pulling anything. "Can you make a guess as to where we are?" I said evenly.

"No, I damn well can't," he spat. A moment later, he remembered how deep he was in. "No, I can't, Inquisitor," he said in a much more humble tone. A moment passed in silence. My finger left the trigger of the gun – a foolish move, had Zefram chosen to become violent – and tapped the barrel idly. Zefram coughed politely. "Inquisitor, I could find my way if I took this off," he said softly, gesturing at the eyepatch. "May I-"

"You most certainly may not!" I snapped. He winced. In the heat of the moment, my finger slipped back onto the trigger. More time passed as I attempted in vain to find a way out that didn't involve the use of warpcraft. Finally, I gave up and made the sign of the aquila. "Alright mutant," I said sharply. "We do it your way." As he stood up, my hand again found his shoulder and squeezed viciously. At the same time, I leaned forward and hissed into his ear. "But if you even think of turning to look at me with that eye of yours, I'll shoot you, gouge it out, and leave you here. Because even if I can't find my way out without you, I'd rather die alone in the dark than let an abhuman like you go free. Do you understand?"

"I-I understand," he said. With that he reached up – very slowly – and carefully removed the eyepatch. A moment later, a soft blue light began to illuminate the corridor before us. Despite the abominable source, I had to admit that it was a very pretty sort of sight. For a moment, it faded away completely, then returned full force. I was briefly confused, then nearly laughed aloud. Of course the light had vanished – Zefram still needed to blink from time to time. On some deep level, it was reassuring.

With Zefram's eye guiding us, we quickly found our way out of the deeper warrens we'd wandered into and made our way back towards the surface, the light from his eye guiding us. The journey was silent and uneventful. Finally, I began to notice that the ambient light was growing. Zefram noticed it as well, and before I even thought of it, closed his eye and replaced the patch.

We finally broke through to the surface in the outer fifth ring of Corvinas by removing a manhole cover. After the dark and cold sewers, the fading sunlight felt like a blessing from the Emperor himself. For a moment, Zefram looked like he was going to try and bolt, but then he set his face into an expression of grim determination and spoke. "I think the nearest military presence is this way," he said with a jerk of his head. We walked in silence until we were but a stone's throw away from the encampment of the Cadian 422nd Infantry. He finally stopped walking and swallowed. "So...what happens now?" he asked.

I was silent for a full minute as I looked him up and down. Finally, I flicked the safety on the stub gun and tossed it to him. He nearly dropped it, but recovered at the last moment. "Go on," I said firmly. "I'm not going to shoot you."

I turned to walk away when he spoke again. "I-Inquisitor?" he asked. I turned and fixed my gaze to his as he licked his lips nervously. With a flash of insight, I knew what he was about to ask a split-second before he asked it. "Do you think...do you think that maybe I...maybe I could come with you? I mean...I could...I could help you..." he slowly trailed off, as though his words were insufficient to explain the depths of his feeling.

So there it was. The silent plea of every downhiver. The deep-rooted desire to "get out, get out, get OUT" of the most terrible places to be found in the Imperium. A desire that ran so deep and so strong people have been known to lie, cheat, and even murder to get out. And here I stood with the opportunity to grant one of these people their wish and, to kill two birds with one stone, keep a potentially dangerous mutant under my eye. It must have taken Zefram every ounce of courage he'd possessed to say such a thing to me. I remained silent as I considered his words while he stood before me and nervously fidgeted. Finally, I spoke.

"I don't consort with the tainted." 

I turned and walked away without waiting to see his reaction.

\--------------------------------------------

Over the next two weeks, I spent a good portion of my time regretting my decision. Letting Zefram go had been a mistake, and I cursed myself for that one moment of weakness. I had gone against my Inquisitorial training, and I just knew that no good would come of it. Whenever I stopped to think, my mind conjured up various terrible consequences of letting the mutant out of my sight when I should have had him dealt with. I constantly prayed that I would get a chance to set things right, even though I knew it was most likely in vain.

Fate has a strange way of surprising us. 

It was midmorning when the rumours reached the palace, rumours of a heretic appearing in the largest of the Ecclesiarchy cathedrals and causing a commotion. With a feeling of dread forming in my gut, I excused myself from whatever it was I had been doing up to that point (to this day, I cannot recall) and hurried there. As the cathedral loomed before me, I felt my uneasiness growing. A crowd had gathered around the entrance, but a quick flash of the rosette and a few choice words caused them to part without incident as I bulled my way through.

Once on the inside, I was met by Father Confessor Pelvale, who hurriedly escorted me towards the altar. As we quickly walked through the rows of pews, he assured me that although the danger seemed over, they had cleared out the cathedral to be on the safe side. I nodded and asked for a description of this renegade who had appeared in our midst. "Well," he said. "I can't rightly say. All I remember is a bright blue glow coming from his face."

The knot in my stomach twisted tighter, and I reached down to unstrap my boltgun.

The precaution proved to be unnecessary. 

Zefram's body lay just before the cathedral altar in a pool of blood, bracketed by the bodies of several Ecclesiarches. He lay on his right side, curled into a fetal position. The blood came from two injuries, the larger in his stomach, the smaller from a ragged and gory tear were his right eye had once been. His remaining eye was closed. I stood over him and wondered, not altogether idly, if I had been the one to drive him to this. "What happened?" I asked the gathered priests and other holy men. They promptly replied with three or four different versions of the story, and it took several hours before I managed to create a clear picture.

The final version given to me was this. 

Zefram had barged into the morning mass, gutshot by a bolter round. Delirious from the blood loss, he had staggered through the congregation, shoving those who didn't get out of his way fast enough, shouting something about needed to be cleansed.

Before the frightened eyes of the people, he had collapsed before the altar. As the Ecclesiarches surrounded him, Zefram had begged for their aid, rambling about how he had strayed from the Emperor and needed to become pure again. Compassionate men that they were, the priests began to minister to him. But he interrupted their liturgies by staggering to his feet and snarling that a simple confession would do nothing for him; he literally needed to cut away a piece of himself in order to be clean again.

What happened next was the stuff of nightmares and whispered tales. Zefram had torn the eyepatch from his face and allowed the blue light from his eye to shine forth. Four men had died in that terrible light, their minds burned away before they could avert their gazes. Then, before the eyes of the panicking congregation, Zefram had staggered to the altar, taken up a candlestick, and...

I didn't want to think about what he'd done next. 

I stood silently over him, unable to tear my eyes away. I didn't understand. I had expected to feel...satisfied, that my choice had not come back to haunt me. Comforted, because a dangerous mutant had been removed. Pleased, because he had excised the heretical part of himself before dying.

I felt none of that. 

Instead, what filled me was a sense of loss and shame. A man had died. A man had died when he had not needed to. And he had died because of my callousness.

A shimmer caught my eye, and I crouched beside Zefram's body. I realized that he held something in his left hand, something attached to a silver chain. I reached down and gently pried open his bloody fingers.

The double-headed eagle of the Imperium, the aquilae, looked up at me. Made of some type of steel and painted a vibrant green, Zefram had clutched the talisman so tightly that its sharp edges had sliced into his hand, leaving it bloody. I plucked the symbol of mankind from him and almost automatically wiped the blood from it. I looked at it for a moment, then, as if drawn by some outside force, I turned to look up at the massive portrait of the Emperor that was painted on the opposite wall of the cathedral.

They say the Emperor lies within the Golden Throne on Terra as he slowly withers away. But on that day on Beritan, He was there, watching me. When I looked up at His face, I could not tear my eyes away. As if directed by His will and not my own, my hands found the clasp to the silver chain and opened it. I slid the chain around my neck and closed the lock, leaving the noble aquilae hanging against my breastbone.

Finally, I looked back down and bent over Zefram. "You are pure," I whispered, my words so soft that only I could hear them. "I was wrong to call you tainted." With that, I gently kissed him on his temple and stood.

"Madam Inquisitor?" one of the men ventured. I barely heard him. 

"Take him," I said softly. "Give him a proper burial." 

"Madam?" 

I turned. "He is cleansed. You have the Inquisition's word for that. Give him full rights."

"Full rights," the nearest man repeated, sounding like he was in a trance. 

I turned at walked away, my footsteps echoing throughout the halls. I felt that I had changed somehow. I wondered whether it would be for the better or worse.

\--------------------------------------------

I did not become a radical overnight. The change happened slowly. For weeks after Zefram's death, I changed very little, perhaps not at all besides the fact that I became more withdrawn than I had before.

The ork invasion of Beritan was beaten back and defeated, though the hive world would suffer brief plagues of feral orks in the future. When my presence was no longer required, I bade farewell to Governor Galloway and chartered a new sprint trader, a ship named the Red Dancer. Its captain, a taciturn man by the name of Greis, accepted my presence with neither annoyance nor gratitude, but as if I was just another passenger, something that suited me just fine.

The change in my attitude first manifested itself three weeks later, on the frontier world of Eidar. There, the disgusting Tyrannid menace was attempting to create a beachhead. There, they were opposed by a few farmers wielding tools...and a pair of twin boys, not yet twenty years of age.

Talon and Tarin were, on the surface, perfectly normal boys born to a pair of perfectly normal parents. But when threatened by the menace of the ever-devouring Tyrannids, they showed their true nature. As twins, they had each been born with a natural ability to tap into the power of the warp. Before my eyes, I watched them slaughter the Tyrannids by the dozen using devastating psychic fire and lightning.

I was given pause. Some Inquisitors would have killed the boys outright due to the possible threat they presented. Some would have chosen to bind them to the Emperor, adding them to the choir of the Astronomican. I chose neither. I approached the two boys and brought them under my wing. As I am no psyker, I could teach them little about controlling their power, but I could teach them about the worlds outside their own and what was waiting for them if they abused their gifts.

Maybe I saw a bit of Zefram when I looked at them. Maybe it was that my conscience had decided to find a better path for me to take. But for whatever reason, when I left Eidar, Talon and Tarin came with me, and willingly. As time passed, I picked up the mutant Vodane with his four eyes and the guardswoman T'hanna, who had survived a Chaos incursion by becoming one with the daemon that had tried to possess her.

The accusations began to fly. Assertions that I was no longer safe. Rumours about me consorting with the Great Enemy to safeguard their blasphemous servants. I refused to bow to such rumours and challenged anyone who spoke them to find fault with the loyalty of my new associates. None rose to the challenge, for they knew that their accusations were ultimately groundless. Under the pragmatic eye of the Inquisition's masters, my retinue grew as I took in the shamed, the deformed, the ones nobody else would have.

My hair is raven black now. My false eyes burn a blood red. My augmentic right hand can crush a man's throat. I no longer wear my rosette openly, though I have kept the signet ring. There are still those who whisper behind my back that I am corrupted, and that I must be carefully watched. They willfully ignore the aquilae that still hangs from my neck in defiance of their claims. From time to time, I have touched that aquilae as though it were a good luck charm, or held it as I prayed as though in my hand I held not a mere piece of metal, but the hopes and dreams of all the Imperium.

I still dream of Zefram, though less often now that I once did. I have him to thank for opening my eyes to the truth, though it still saddens me that it took his life to do so. It helps me to think that with each life I touch, I am in some small way paying back the debt I owe him.

I am Inquisitor Kristania Veritas. 

I am a radical. 

And now you know why.


End file.
